Love Behind the Veil
by Dungbombs Rule
Summary: 6th Year. Harry becomes an intern at the Ministry, secretly hoping to return to the Department of Mysteries to explore what’s behind the veil. Meanwhile, Voldemort is busy with a new scheme, and Harry finds love in the unlikeliest of places. HarryLuna
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the goddess that is JKR, who better be working hard on Harry's sixth year right now. Or taking care of her new kid. But I think we all know which one's more important. (  
  
The clock struck twelve, and he was still playing with himself.  
  
Harry had gotten used to amusing himself, living with the Dursleys all these years. Years ago, his summer would have passed being tortured and teased by his cousin, screamed and screeched at by his uncle, and bothered and bored by his aunt. Now, they pretty much left him alone, due to the not-so-gentle threat the Order had given them at the end of term.  
  
Tired, Harry pushed away the gobstones (he had just suffered a rather nasty squirt in the eye), and watched his queen being bludgeoned by a pawn. So much for playing against himself in wizard's chess. He wasn't even worried about the excessive noise as the queen begged for mercy; he could tell the Dursleys were asleep by the sound of Uncle Vernon's snores over Aunt Petunia's wheezing. Unfortunately, good old Dummikins was away at Pier Polkins' house. He could usually be counted on for a bit of harmless entertainment, but getting a rise out of Dudley didn't have the same vindictive satisfaction it once had.  
  
Prodding the bishop towards the pawn with his wand, Harry contemplated his ill fortune. This was his sixth summer away from Hogwarts. He didn't mind missing the classes and the studying, but he was sore about not being able to see his best friends, Ron and Hermione, for another two months. He didn't even have Hedwig for company; she was out looking for a few rodents to round out her dinner. Hedwig had been gone a lot lately.  
  
'Probably bored.' He thought, not blaming her. He'd be out of here quick as a thestral if he had a chance. 'Stupid Dumbledore, stupid protection curse. Doesn't he think I can take care of myself?' He savagely overturned the chessboard, the pieces screaming something about dignity and fidelity as they hit the ground. He knew he was being stupid; he had to be here, locked up like a prisoner.  
  
Like a prisoner.  
  
Sirius.  
  
Not for the first time, Harry's thoughts turned to his deceased godfather. The familiar cloud of guilt reappeared as Harry started a new game of exploding crap, a new Weasely invention. This game not only exploded; it made rude noises and emitted smelly fumes.  
  
'Sirius had hated being locked up. He knew what it was like, to escape from Azkaban just to be shunted to Grimmauld Place, unable to help the Order, cut off from helping those he loved or the world he wished to preserve.'  
  
A few months ago, Harry would have felt like Sirius had; thirsty to help, to have his talents utilized. But now.now, Harry didn't care. He had tried to help, and what good had it done? He had nearly gotten himself and his friends killed.  
  
But he had gotten someone killed.  
  
Sirius.  
  
Sirius, who always risked everything to see Harry, who had never let him down.  
  
'And he didn't,' Harry thought. 'I let him down.'  
  
Of course, Dumbledore and the others had tried to convince him that the blame for Sirius's death did not lie with him. 'But I was the one that fell for Voldemort's trick. Sirius came to help me.' And now, he was gone.and not coming back. Harry flinched, partly from this burdensome memory, and partly because the cards had just exploded in his face. 'Damn it,' he muttered, feeling around for his eyebrows.  
  
He rose to look into the wall mirror, but sat down again. His eyes rested on Hedwig's cage, then his Firebolt, then the trunk with all the rest of his Hogwarts things. To this he stumbled towards, tripping over a sticky gobstone. He opened it, not really aware of what he was doing, until he encountered a small, smooth surface.  
  
Sirius' two-way mirror. Of course it wouldn't work now that Sirius was dead, but that didn't stop him from fingering it every night, thinking about Sirius and wishing things had gone differently last June. He started to half-heartedly polish it with his sleeve, and tilted it in different directions, admiring his handiwork. It was quite handsome: smooth, silver lions engraved around an oval surface. He lifted it to examine his scorched eyebrows, and then the faint stubble that had recently surfaced on his chin, when he noticed a dark shadow in the corner.  
  
He swiftly turned around, looking for the source. A rustle of feathers and a nip on the finger signaled Hedwig's return, proudly carrying a fresh field mouse in her beak. Harry watched as she retreated into her cage to devour it, and had the sudden urge to go join the field mouse.  
  
'That way Hedwig can chew me up and put me out of my misery. Maybe I'll make a better hairball than a human.'  
  
At this, a trigger went off in Harry's head. These were extremely unhealthy thoughts. 'This is ridiculous. I have to talk to this about someone; I can't let this keep eating away at me. Not with the prophecy, not with the fate of the wizarding world on my shoulders.'  
  
Harry got sudden déjà vu, remembering his third year when his scar had hurt, and he needed to talk to someone about that as well. He had thought of Dumbledore, Ron, and Hermione, but finally decided to entrust Sirius with that information. But now, when he more alone, scared, and angry than he had ever felt before, who could he turn to? Who would understand what it felt like to lose a parent? His mind flashed towards Ron: he had nearly lost his father. But Ron, while great to talk to about lots of things (things meaning Quidditch, Harry added fairly) wasn't too good on emotions. And Hermione - well, how could she relate? She had two, healthy, caring parents, and he had none. He was actually in the negative numbers now, losing his two parents had brought him to zero, and Sirius took him to -1. Harry also knew better than to contact Dumbledore; aside from still being angry with him, he was now working with the Ministry on a plan to take on Voldemort.  
  
'Wait a second,' Harry started, knocking his head on Hedwig's cage ('Sorry there, Hed.')  
  
Luna Lovegood. It was crazy, but it made a sort of lunatic sense to Harry. She had lost her mom; they had talked about it briefly before the term ended. Could he talk to her? It was worth a try. After all, she had told him on the train ride home that if he ever needed anything, he should owl her. Harry had assumed anything meant advice on how to catch a Crumpled Horn Butt Blaster or whatever it was she was always going on about. But now he realized she was offering him a unique companionship, something Ron and Hermione couldn't give him. He would be stupid not to owl her.  
  
And yet, Harry waited. He didn't know how he felt, owling a girl he didn't know too well. What if she took it the wrong way? What if she felt Harry was overstepping his bounds? Or what if she thought he was interested in her in another way? He didn't want Luna to think he liked her as more than a friend; would an unexpected owl reinforce that image?  
  
This mental debate lasted a few more seconds, but he ultimately decided it was too difficult to predict Loony Lovegood's reaction. He headed towards his desk, picked up some quill and parchment, and scribbled:  
  
Hi Luna,  
  
You said on the train that I could owl you, so here I am. I hope you're good, and that you're having a good time this summer working on the Quibbler and all that. Anyways, lately I've been thinking a lot about Sirius. Is this normal when someone passes away? Maybe I'm making a big deal out of nothing. I don't know anymore.  
  
Bye, Harry  
  
Harry surveyed his letter critically. It rambled, but he wasn't really sure how to phrase it, and he felt that if he worked on it any longer he would lose his nerve. He woke Hedwig up, who was dozing after her snack.  
  
"Oi, Hedwig. Willya send this to Luna Lovegood? She lives near Ron. Thanks."  
  
He tied the letter to her leg, and watched as she took flight into the night. If he had not been so worried, he would have seen the irony in asking Luna if something were 'normal.'  
  
******** A/N: Luna really does live near Ron, see GOF "The Portkey." Also, I know this is kind of angsty, but it will change soon, you'll see! And finally, I don't what to be a review slut, so I'll just kindly ask you to PLEASE REVIEW! 


	2. OWLS and owls

A/N: I don't know how to do italics on fanfic, so ** signals the start and end of every letter. If anyone knows how to do those cute little things (italics, bold, etc) please email me.  
  
Disclaimer: I own everything -- everything outside the Harry Potter universe. That belongs to J.K.R. ****************************************************  
  
It had been some weeks since Harry had written to Luna, and he still didn't have a response. Not that he didn't have plenty to keep busy with. Snape had assigned the sixth years a nasty essay about controversial growth potions. Harry remembered Ron's reaction when the Potions Master had told them it was to be three rolls of parchment long.  
  
"Three rolls! I'll need to grow a new brain to finish that!" he had said.  
  
On top of that, Flitwick was making them research hygiene spells, Sinistra was making them keep a stargazing journal, McGonagall asked for a roll of parchment on pre-natal transfigurations - only Hagrid had failed to give them summer homework, a small consolation.  
  
So slowly, Harry chuffed away at his work. He started with Flitwick's essay; it would probably be the easiest, and looked at the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6 under "personal care." Hundreds of spells greeted his eyes. There were deodorizing spells (Harry surreptitiously sniffed his armpit), pedicure spells (he glanced at his chewed-up fingers), and even nose-hair removal spells.  
  
"Well, that's one thing I don't have to worry about," he chuckled. A long braid of nose hair, while funny gag, would not help his already poor chances with the girls.  
  
Finally, he decided to write about the bleaching spell, mostly because the witch in the diagram was quite pretty, winking and fluffing her hair up at him. He dipped his quill into the inkwell and started describing the bleaching charm. Halfway through reading the section, "Side affects to being blonde and beautiful," Harry wondered what he'd look like with golden locks.  
  
'A little too much like Malfoy,' he though disgustedly. 'Stupid, towheaded git, maybe this was the spell that addled his ----'  
  
But Harry's insult was interrupted by a rap at the window. As he got up to open it, and an official looking tawny owl flew once around the room and dropped a letter in Harry's hand. Hedwig moved over and allowed the owl to have some of her water, but it declined, and exited Harry's window almost at once.  
  
'What in the world could this be?' Harry thought, examining the letter. The only time he had ever gotten anything from the Ministry, it had been to bring him bad news. But he hadn't done any underage magic, not even one tiny Lumos spell, so that couldn't be it. He read:  
  
**Dear Mr. H Potter,  
  
We are pleased to inform you that your O.W.L. testing results have arrived. If you have any questions, please contact Professor Marchbanks at the Testing and Examinations Office.**  
  
And below, Harry saw his O.W.L.S. He hadn't done too badly - he'd gotten an 'O' in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures, an 'E' in Transfiguration and Charms, an 'A' in Potions ("Holy Phoenix!" Harry cried at this) and Herbology, a 'P' in Astronomy and History of Magic, and a 'D' in Divination.  
  
"At least I didn't get any Ts," Harry told Hedwig. She hooted approvingly.  
  
Harry was just about to write a letter to Ron (He wanted to share his scores with Ron before Hermione started bragging about her 100 Os) when something small and bushy collided with his face. For one split second Harry thought of being strangled by Hermione, but then he regained his senses and saw that three owls were lying on the floor, in varying states of consciousness.  
  
"A little too eager,' he laughed to himself, picking up the largest one and reading the message.  
  
**Dear Mr. Potter  
  
Congratulations! You have been nominated as an intern at the Defense Agency in the Ministry of Magic. Not only did you receive the highest Defense Against the Dark Arts score this year at the O.W.L. examinations, you also have demonstrated yourself to be a highly courageous and able young man. You were nominated by Mr. Albus Dumbledore, who has brought your work against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to our attention. We feel you will be a valuable member of our team.  
  
This is an extraordinary opportunity, and we hope that you will be able to take advantage of it.  
  
Yours sincerely, Aurora Grandnook, Ministry of Magic**  
  
Harry reread the letter three times, hoping that it would make more sense, but each time more and more questions entered his mind.  
  
Since when did the Ministry of Magic have a Defense Agency? And why would they nominate him? There were plenty of well-qualified wizards who deserved an internship more than him. An image of Percy salivating over such a prestigious internship made him smile grimly, but disappeared just as quick.  
  
Besides, how could they nominate him, after he had led that ridiculous campaign into the Ministry? He wasn't a 'highly courageous young man,' he was stupid and foolhardy, allowing himself to be a pawn in Voldemort's plan. It was because of him that Sirius was dead. So how could the Ministry be patting him on the head and saying 'Job well done'? It all seemed so impossible.  
  
'Maybe this is some kind of joke,' Harry reasoned. 'Maybe Malfoy or someone else just wants me to go prancing into the Ministry, asking where the Defense Agency is and where my office will be.'  
  
And just as Harry said it, he began to believe it. If he actually did go there, he'd be laughed out of the wizarding world. It had taken long enough to convince them he had all his marbles, and he didn't plan to rock the broomstick now. Stubbornly ripping the parchment in two, Harry decided he would not be made a fool of.  
  
He was so engrossed in the first letter, and so angry at the dirty trick someone had obviously played on him, that it took awhile for Harry to notice the tiny owl zooming around his head. Looking up, Harry recognized it as Pigwidgeon, and gave him a pat on the head while he tried to decipher Ron's unsightly scrawl.  
  
**Dear Harry,  
  
Hi! Dad told me about your internship at the Ministry. Great job, mate! And since you can't exactly get to and from the Ministry with the Muggles around, Dad said you could stay here for the rest of the summer. We'll pick you up on Monday.  
  
P.S. I got my OWL results - 6 O.W.L.S. Mum freaked about the 'T' in Divination though, and said that trolls don't get any desert. Fred and George were proud, though.**  
  
Ron's letter cheered Harry up a bit. He found it difficult to believe that anyone would impersonate Ron to trick him, and he felt slightly silly believing his internship was fake to begin with.  
  
'I'm getting to be more paranoid than Mad-Eye Moody,' Harry sighed.  
  
Besides, Ron seemed to think being an intern was a good thing. Surely not everyone in the Ministry had a stick up the old posterior like Percy? Maybe he would be working with the Aurors -it would be nice to see Tonks and maybe Lupin again.  
  
But the thing that finally decided it for him was the prospect of getting away from the Dursleys - and going back to the Burrow - a whole month earlier than expected. He quickly scribbled an 'Okay, I'll be ready,' and 'I got 6 O.W.L.S too,' on the back of the parchment and put it in Pigwidgeon's beak.  
  
Watching Pig fly away into the sunset, Harry beamed. Ron was proud of him. He had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone proud of him. It's not exactly like he could run to the Dursleys and expect them to clap him on the back for getting good O.W.L.S and an internship. He'd be more likely to expect a thump on the head for disturbing them.  
  
But Sirius would be proud . . .  
  
The angry, guilty feeling Harry was so used to now reappeared. Harry tried to push it back, steeling himself to check the last letter. A handsome eagle owl, one that Harry didn't recognize, was the bearer this time. It read:  
  
**Hullo Harry,  
  
I must say, I didn't expect you ever to owl me, but yes, I've been having a great summer. Dad and I just got back from a safari. We spotted two Purple-Horned Man Eaters (don't worry, we had goonberries with us - the Purple-Horned Man Eaters are violently allergic to those)! Dad can't wait to write it up in the Quibbler.  
  
But now to the point. Harry, it's quite normal to think about Sirius now that he's gone. When my mum died, I felt like I had sunk into the bottom of the ocean and I would never surface again. I was sad and hurting, angry and annoyed, but somehow I pulled through.  
  
Sometimes I still see her. Well, not really her, but signs of her, and I know she's watching. The chime of a bell, the song of a bird, even an unexpected shadow proves that I'm not alone.  
  
But I was lucky in that I had my father to talk to. He would tell my stories about my mum, and we'd talk about our favorite things about her. I can still remember the way that she smells, the way she smiles, the way she shrieked when she found my Rhino-Gnome in her garden.**  
  
**************  
  
There was more to the letter, but Harry couldn't finish it. How could he? He had almost forgotten the way Sirius smelled, and smiled, and . . .well, Sirius didn't exactly shriek, but he did get pretty angry whenever he dealt with Snape. His common sense told him that it was okay he didn't remember how Sirius smelt or smiled; the truth was, he usually smelt pretty bad, especially when he was on the run, and he hardly ever smiled. But, as those who are under stress are wont to do, Harry ignored his common sense.  
  
'How could I have forgotten Sirius so much? I think about him every day, and yet - I don't remember.'  
  
Harry stuck his head into his trunk and once again pulled out his two-way- mirror, this time accompanied by the useless melted knife (Harry had stubbornly kept it) that Sirius had given him for Christmas, and some old letters his godfather had written him. This was all he had left of his Sirius. Would these too be forgotten one day?  
  
Sitting down at his desk, Harry took a new piece of parchment and wrote.  
  
Dear Luna, I know what you mean. It's hard to not feel mad or guilty about Sirius' death. I remember one time ------  
  
****  
  
Harry wrote into the night, trying to remember everything about Sirius he could and relaying it to Luna. He couldn't let his godfather be forgotten, and while writing it to Luna might be a poor repayment for everything Sirius had done for him, it was the best he could think of.  
  
He wasn't sure how, but he knew Luna would understand his need to get everything out, and everything was a lot - almost 3 rolls of parchment. Harry's thoughts strayed to Snape's Growth Potions essay momentarily, thinking that having the Purpled-Horn Man Eater might come in handy in some situations. But, just as quickly, his attention returned to Luna, and he scanned the rest of her letter. He was glad she didn't think it was odd that he owling her all of the sudden. She was surprised, yes, but he guessed it took a lot more than an unexpected owl to astonish Luna.  
  
In fact, Harry thought, her response had turned out to be a lot more insightful than he had expected. She didn't lather on any false sympathy, or try to give Harry any knowledgeable advice. She had simply related her feelings to Harry, as one grieving human being to another.  
  
As it was now late, Harry began to clean up. He attached his letter to the eagle owl's leg (it was so long it weighed him down considerably), and began to put away Sirius' things.  
  
He was tired, so he didn't notice the Dursleys pulling into the driveway after an evening at the theatre. He barely heard Uncle Vernon's guffaws as he relived the evening's festivities, or Dudley's complaints that they had skipped desert. Not that it mattered, because none of these things interested him anyways.  
  
But what would have interested him, if he weren't so tired, was the faint trace of a face that appeared in the two-way mirror as he put it under the portrait of himself Dobby had made him last Christmas. True, Harry had thought that he saw something, but reasoned that it must be his mind playing tricks on him.  
  
"You know what, Hedwig." Harry yawned as he lowered himself into his bed. "Maybe the crazy ones are actually the sanest of us all. Who knows? I never would have thought Luna could be so helpful. Maybe you should try being friends with Pigwidgeon?"  
  
At this, Hedwig hooted impetuously. Harry had had her long enough to know what this meant.  
  
Fat chance.  
  
*****************************************  
  
A/N: I know Lupin isn't exactly an Auror, but he works pretty closely with them, so close enough. Also, please review! I need some encouragement (or some criticism)! 


	3. In Lieu of Floo

Disclaimer: I own Sean Biggerstaff, Jason Isaacs, and Alan Rickman, but sadly, not the Harry Potter universe. That belongs to J.K.R.  
  
************************  
  
The week dragged on as Harry impatiently awaited his departure from #4 Privet Drive. When Monday finally arrived, Harry packed his school things, tucked Hedwig snugly into her cage, and sat on the porch, eagerly anticipating the Weasleys' visit. He had already told his aunt and uncle that he would be leaving early; he thought they would be mad, but they merely grunted in acceptance. He supposed the memory of the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition was still fresh in their minds.  
  
It was almost noon, and the sun was burning the back of Harry's neck. Still, better to be outside with the sweltering sun than inside with the drizzly (make that grizzly) Dursleys, Harry thought.  
  
As the sun drifted slowly to the west, Harry got up and took a stroll around the neighborhood. In the distance, he could hear the pained cries of someone, probably a victim of Dudley's gang. Dudley, after retiring from his boxing career with three junior wins, something that Uncle Vernon liked to talk about very loudly on the porch (so the neighbors could hear), had gone back to his other favorite pastime: bullying. Who was it this time? The Dawkins boy? The Crockett girl? The Evans kid?  
  
At least he wasn't the one being picked on. Not that he didn't have enough to worry about. On the contrary, dealing with Sirius' death, a new internship, more specialized wizard training at Hogwarts, and one day having to kill (or be killed by) the most evil sorcerer of the age was plenty to handle, thank you very much. And mentally, Harry added another item to his list of worries: Ron.  
  
Where was he?  
  
Harry hadn't considered it before, but how was Ron going to pick him up? Surely not by Floo Powder - they'd learned their lesson in his fourth year. And not by broomsticks either; they'd attract far too much attention in Muggle England.  
  
"Maybe another flying car?" Harry said stupidly, before coming to his senses. After all the trouble Mr. Weasley had gotten into with the Ministry due to his enchanted Ford Anglia, Harry suspected that would be the last way they would pick him up. The Knight Bus? Harry wouldn't mind seeing Stan Shunpike again; any familiar face, however pimply, would be good right now.  
  
Suddenly, something happened that made Harry forget about all about Stan Shunpike's face. In fact, it pretty much made him forget about everything. His mind was miraculously clear, save for one, burning desire.  
  
He needed to pee.  
  
Badly.  
  
Perhaps it was the three glasses of orange juice he had had for breakfast, or maybe the glass of water he had had an hour before - the details didn't matter, Harry *had* to go. Gritting his teeth, he rushed back to the house, pounced up the stairs, and immediately found himself in the Dursleys' (compulsively clean) bathroom.  
  
"Thank Merlin," Harry muttered, undoing his pants.  
  
But just as he was about to relieve himself, something odd appeared in the toilet. It started off as a shapeless blur, but then began to take form. Harry thought it was a trick of light, but peering closer, saw that it looked like a boy's head. Getting still nearer, he noticed the head had striking red hair.  
  
It looked like Ron's head.  
  
RON!?  
  
"Ron, WHAT are you doing in my TOILET?" Harry screamed, jumping back.  
  
"Oi, sorry Harry, it's just. . . Oi, mate, can you please put that away while I'm talking to you?" Ron blushed.  
  
Harry turned even redder and zipped up his pants.  
  
'Good thing I didn't have any of Aunt Petunia's chili for lunch,' Harry thought to himself mirthlessly. 'Although it would serve the nosy git right for lurking in my toilet to begin with.'  
  
"Auditioning for Moaning Myrtle's job?" Harry asked instead.  
  
"No, really, sorry, Harry," said Ron, and he looked it, "but the Ministry has been clamping down on Floo Powder use. Apparently the Department of Health at St. Mungo's was getting a lot of complaints about lung infections and other Muggle problems from all the soot and ash in the fireplaces. So the Ministry has started to make everyone use a replacement."  
  
"Toilets?" Harry asked incredulously.  
  
"Well, yes. See, every house has one; with magic we can travel through the sewage systems unharmed, and they only had to make a few adjustments to Floo Powder," Ron finished. "You just have to make sure you don't walk into anyone doing anything, er, compromising."  
  
Harry's face reddened once again. If taking a whiz wasn't compromising, he didn't know what was. Still, it was lucky that Ron's face didn't pop up while Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon were taking care of business.  
  
"Yeah, and there's an added plus to Poo Powder," Ron continued, while Harry grimaced at the name. "You don't need to have it on your side of the connection for it to work." Ron showed Harry the flowerpot full of blue powder. It was then that Harry realized what Ron was getting at.  
  
He was going to arrive at the Burrow via *toilet*.  
  
"Boy, what I wouldn't do for a good fireplace now," Harry said. The thought of zooming down the Dursleys' crapper was revolting, and Harry considered declining the offer. What if the magic didn't work, and he was stuck in the sewer system forever? Or what if he ended up in the wrong toilet, and scared some witch down in Yorkshire to death?  
  
It looked like Ron was expecting this reaction, as he started going into a whole speech about how safe it is. "I would have had Dad tell you about this, but he's away at the Ministry right now," he added.  
  
"Okay, okay," Harry finally caved in, hoping that the risk factor for toilet tragedies was low. I'll get my stuff. Just do me one favor, okay, Ron?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Get your head out of my toilet. I really have to pee."  
  
***********************************************  
  
A few minutes later, Harry found himself spiraling through England's sewage system, trying to remember all of Ron's advice. Close your eyes. Keep your arms and legs crossed. Breathe through your nose.  
  
Harry had thought it would be like Floo Powder; unpleasant but short-lived. But Poo Powder was quite different from its cousin. After Harry cautiously sat on the loo, Ron threw the dark blue powder, yelling, "The Burrow!"  
  
The sensation was odd, like being sucked into a vortex. Once, when Mrs. Figg was sick, Harry had gone vacationing with the Durlseys at the beach, and Harry, a poor swimmer, had been caught in a whirlpool. That was kind of how Harry felt now, except it was also warm and humid. Water swirled all around him, but he was miraculously dry. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but after about 30 seconds, Harry began to get dizzy from all the twisting and turning.  
  
"Well, at least I'm in the right place to chuck my cookies," Harry mused grimly.  
  
Ten more seconds passed, and he began to slow done and finally stopped. With a pleasant 'pop', Harry found himself face to face with Ron, sitting on the Weasleys' toilet. They both doubled up in laughter.  
  
"Ro-on, a little privacy please," Harry joked.  
  
"Oh be quiet, you stupid git. I'm a prefect remember; don't make me give you detention."  
  
"What's this all about? Are we carrying on?" a female voice enquired.  
  
Ginny stuck her head into the lavatory.  
  
"Hullo, Harry," she grinned, spotting him on the toilet. "Boy, do you have a big head. You need an entourage even to follow you into the bathroom?"  
  
Embarrassed, Harry hopped off the john. "Hi Ginny," he said.  
  
"I heard about your internship. Congratulations, you're a regular Percy-in- training."  
  
Harry's face fell. Oh no. Was he going to be writing cauldron bottom reports for the next month?  
  
"Just kidding!" Ginny laughed, watching his expression. "It's a great honor. Anyone would kill to work with the Defense Agency."  
  
"Yeah, and don't think you're not going to share every single shred of information you hear with us," reminded Ron. Harry nodded.  
  
At that instant, the trio's conversation was interrupted by a tremendous hoot from Hedwig. Apparently, she hadn't enjoyed the trip either, so Harry and Ron left to go unpack her and the rest of his things.  
  
Upon entering Ron's violently orange room, Harry smiled at the fact Ron hadn't changed much since second year; he was still crazy about the Chudley Cannons, which considering their century-long losing streak, was quite crazy in itself. But Hedwig kept fussing, so Harry went over to attend to her while Ron started unloading Harry's trunk.  
  
"Whoah, Harry, what's this?" Ron asked a few minutes later.  
  
Harry turned. Ron was holding Sirius' mirror.  
  
"Oh, it's er, nothing. Just a present that, uh, Cho gave me." Harry blushed at his lie.  
  
"Ah," said Ron, with a knowing look ('If only he knew," thought Harry). "Well, it's very nice, mate, but I thought you two were finished."  
  
"Yeah, she was quite pretty but I couldn't handle the flash floods," Harry said, relieved Ron had taken the bait. He didn't like keeping secrets from his best friend, but he couldn't share this just now. He would tell Ron eventually. He hoped.  
  
*********************************************  
  
In typical Weasley fashion, Harry stuffed himself on homemade cooking that night, explaining the finer points of septic tanks with Mr. Weasley, chatting about Quidditch with Ron, laughing at the newest Weasley's Wizard Wheeze (Queasy Quiche, "comes with real puss!"), and fighting off fourth and fifth portions offered by Mrs. Weasley. All in all, it was a good way to spend an evening.  
  
But that night, lying wide-eyed in his bed, Harry's mind turned to less pleasant thoughts. He considered writing another letter to Luna; after all, it had made him feel better last time. So quietly, as to not disturb Ron, Harry penned:  
  
**Dear Luna, Hi. I got an internship at the Ministry of Magic, so I'll be at Ron's house for the rest of the summer.**  
  
He thought of writing more, but Ron's presence made him uncomfortable. What if he woke up, and asked whom Harry was writing to? He didn't want to go into a long explanation about Luna, so he gave the letter to Hedwig as is. But as he was looking for a place to stash his quill, he stumbled onto something else in Ron's desk (The third drawer, under the invisible ink, to be exact). It was a photograph.  
  
A photograph of Hermione.  
  
With a furtive glance back at Ron to make sure he was still sleeping, Harry picked up the picture. Hermione was huddled over a book (One Hundred and One Magical Herbs and Fungi) in such a position that Harry got the distinct impression that Hermione did not know that a picture was being taken.  
  
Harry smiled. It was nice that Ron had found someone, even if that someone did not exactly return the sentiment. Wasn't Hermione still with Krum? Or were they just friends?  
  
Either way, Harry was a little embarrassed of his foray into Ron's love life. After all, it really was none of his business. It did have one good side effect though- it made Harry very sleepy.  
  
He sank back into bed, and his last thoughts before he lost consciousness were of fluffy little golden snitches.  
  
Old habits die hard.  
  
**********************  
  
A/N: Hi everyone; thanks for reading. Now, PLEASE REVIEW!!!!! Next chapter Harry will get to see his job, and maybe more action will happen with Luna. We'll see! Maybe even some other special characters will make a guest appearance * evil laugh * 


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